


Icing on the Cake

by ThayerKerbasy



Series: Pour Some Sugar on Dean (In the Name of Love) [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cake, Canonverse Cafe Not-AU, Fluff, Food Porn, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23664748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThayerKerbasy/pseuds/ThayerKerbasy
Summary: An order comes in for a cocktail-inspired cake, but the details are all left up to Crowley.
Relationships: Castiel/Crowley/Dean Winchester
Series: Pour Some Sugar on Dean (In the Name of Love) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1167176
Comments: 20
Kudos: 27
Collections: SPNColdestHits





	Icing on the Cake

One of the best things about having a shiny purified soul was the satisfaction. Sure, Crowley had enjoyed going to work before undergoing the demonic cure, but that was because it allowed him to spend the day with his favourite people. Since he’d become human again though, every day working in the café’s kitchen felt rewarding in a way he couldn’t remember having ever felt. It was like baking fed his soul.

The residents of their tiny town had sheltered and defended him when a demon army had come for him the year previous, even knowing he was a demon himself. If it gave him joy to bake things for them, no one needed to know. He could pour wordless love into his baked goods and let them speak for him.

Case in point, that morning Dean had handed him an order for a cake. He didn’t often get to fill special orders — it really was a small town — so it was a special treat when they came in. The customer had requested a fruity cocktail inspired cake for a friend’s birthday, but had left the details all up to Crowley. It was like being given a gift.

He considered a vast array of cocktails — dark and stormy had a delicious flavour profile, as did mojitos, but neither of those felt particularly cheerful. No, he needed something uplifting, something that brightened spirits. Piña colada was a classic and would likely do the trick but it was so overused. That’s when it hit him. He needed the spiked lemonade cocktail he used to drink with Dean when he was a demon.

He planned the flavour distribution and the design in his head all day, so as soon as he was free, he gathered the ingredients he needed and started a white cake batter flavoured with lemon and vodka. The batter made such satisfying sounds in the mixer. Really, he’d never truly appreciated that sound until he’d regained his soul, but now it was one of the many good parts of every wonderful day.

The sharp smell of lemon zest hung in the air, as Crowley greased and floured his cake tins and poured in the batter. It was a scent that never failed to make him feel joy.

He slid the cake tins into the oven and set a timer, unwilling to trust his fallible human senses to such an important task. Besides, if he wasn’t worrying about the cakes burning, he could lose himself in the production of other things.

He cleaned his workstation, washing everything he’d used to make the batter, and put leftover ingredients back in their places. Order restored, he took a moment to savour the aroma beginning to waft from the oven as it mingled with the café’s ever-present coffee smell. It made him want coffee and a slice of cake and it wasn’t even his cake.

While the cakes finished baking, Crowley threw together a batch of cookie dough. Shaping it into a cylinder, he wrapped it and left it in the fridge to chill until morning. With perfect timing, no sooner did he have his dough chilling than the timer for his cakes beeped. They emerged from the oven, golden brown and filling the air with the fresh-baked smell that not only demanded he take a bite, but that he shouldn’t bother waiting for them to cool.

With a wistful sigh for all the things he never got to taste, he recleaned his workstation, then set the mixer to whisking air into butter while he gathered the rest of the ingredients for buttercream. Workstation thus arranged, Crowley then juiced the lemons he’d zested earlier. It was hard not to just use lemon extract so he could make himself a cocktail with the juice, but he had a reputation to maintain. Lemon juice and a healthy amount of vodka joined the butter.

No matter how careful he was, sifting the confectioner’s sugar into the butter always made the air taste delicious, so that appeased his inner glutton for the time being. He added a little at a time until the consistency was perfect, then filled his piping bag.

After that, he lost all track of time as his focus narrowed to his two hands and the cake. He spread tart marmalade and more buttercream between each layer of cake, concentrating on a balance of flavours, then sealed them in with a generous coating of more buttercream. The cake on the top was smaller than the rest and he decorated it as if it were an actual cocktail, with a couple of novelty stir sticks and a skewer of fresh fruit garnishes.

Was it a cake worthy of appearing on a television show? Probably not, but it looked delicious and it was better than anything else available in their little town.

He still wanted to eat it. Firmly quashing those thoughts, he moved the cake to the walk-in fridge, then set to work cleaning up buttercream. He’d already stayed late to ensure he’d have the cake ready for whenever the customer came to pick it up. It had been a long day and Crowley just wanted to get home. Dean and Cas had closed up sometime while the cakes were baking — he was sure he remembered Dean saying something about how Crowley should have fun, but not take all night because he was making something nice for dinner.

A quick glance at the clock told Crowley that dinner was probably waiting. Hopefully no one was too irritated. The nice thing about being in a long term relationship with one’s co-workers was that they tended to understand when he got lost in a creative project.

He was about to call a cab when he spotted his car outside. Most mornings, he rode with Dean and Cas in the Impala, but on the rare occasions he wanted to get an early start, he took the shiny red 1960 MG MGA the old Men of Letters had left behind. Dean kept offering to get him something else, but Crowley was happy with his classic relic. He hadn’t driven it to work that morning, though, so someone had gone to the trouble of dropping it off for him just so he wouldn’t have to wait for a cab. They all had extra keys for each other’s vehicles, and Crowley kept his on the same ring as his work keys, so Dean and Cas would have driven home in the Impala, driven back to the café in separate cars, then driven back home again in the Impala. Just the thought of his loved ones taking the time to arrange that for him made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

That simple act was icing on the top of an already wonderful day. He floated home on a cloud of love he could never have imagined possible before coming to work at the café. When he pulled into his self-assigned parking space in the Bunker’s garage, he was honestly surprised to find himself already home and not still driving in a dream.

He was intercepted on his way in by Dean, who peeked out of the kitchen long enough to say, “Dinner’s not ready yet and Cas had to run into town for something. You’ve got time for a shower if you want.”

Crowley blew him an air kiss. “Thank you, darling. That sounds wonderful.”

He wasted no time in shucking his work clothes in the hamper. The Bunker’s much vaunted water pressure was no myth, and had quickly become part of his after work routine whenever possible. As cliché as it sounded, it felt like the water could wash away all his past sins.

The hot water never ran out, so he had no idea how long he was in the shower, but his stomach loudly reminded him he hasn’t eaten since lunch. Quickly toweling dry, he tossed on plain black jeans and a t-shirt stolen from Dean’s drawer, and set off for the kitchen. As soon as he left the room, he was greeted by the unmistakable aroma of garlic bread, at which point it became a race to reach the kitchen before his stomach ate itself.

The smell of garlic bread led him to expect a basic spaghetti dinner, but he stopped in his tracks when he entered the kitchen to find the table loaded with caesar salad, garlic bread, and a steaming hot lasagna in a casserole dish he wasn’t even aware they owned. A familiar cocktail sat at each place setting and the cake he’d spent so much time on had somehow ended up on the kitchen island.

While Crowley stood stunned, Dean took advantage of his silence. “Happy Humaniversary!”

He’d been human for a full year, so he thought he had a grasp on the emotions that came with it, but as the implications of those words sank in, he was proven wrong. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and no amount of blinking could dissuade them.

Cas apparently felt the need to clarify, “Dean and I were the ones who ordered the cake. While you were showering, I brought it home. We thought you would like a cake, but neither of us could make anything as good as you. Were we mistaken?”

“No, it’s alright,” Crowley rasped.

“S’okay, Cas. It’s just happy tears.” Dean gently squeezed Crowley’s arm, but abruptly let go. “Wait, they _are_ happy tears, right? Tell me we didn’t screw this up.”

It was a small thing, but it was enough to make Crowley laugh a little and wipe away the tears. “Yes, damn your thoughtful arses, they’re happy tears. Here I thought I’d figured out the whole human thing and then you two make me come undone with my own damn cake. By which I mean, thank you, you sentimental bastards.”

With the barest hint of a smile, Cas took his seat at the table. “You’re welcome. We should eat before the food gets cold.”

“Yes, please eat,” said Dean, taking a seat across the table from Cas. “I worked my ass off trying to make sure this’d be done in time.”

Crowley loaded up his plate before sitting at the end of the table, where he could see both of the people who clearly loved him, despite being entirely too good for him. Smiling wryly, he shook his head. “Would you believe I forgot what day it was until you said it?”

“Actually, we counted on that,” replied Cas. “We’ve been planning this all week.”

Dean shrugged and nodded, silently admitting with his mouth full that he’d helped pull the wool over Crowley’s eyes for a full week. It was a very self-satisfied look.

Crowley laughed. “You devious monsters. I love you, too.”

There was a time he’d have said that sarcastically, knowing no one would say it back. Now, it was something he could take for granted, knowing they didn’t even need to say it because their love shone through hundreds of little things every day. It was the best feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I've been half meaning to write for a long time. We deserve to see these guys happy and settled.
> 
> While this was written for Coldest Hits, I'm not competing this month. It was mostly just an excuse to write gratuitous food porn for this series. Please give unto me your comments and kudos. I'm the one who chose the theme, so I honestly just want to sit back and watch the food porn roll in.


End file.
